Chaos Balance
CXI
NYLAN LOOKED AT the road ahead, almost flat as it curved westward around a low rise barely more than ten cubits high. Instead of the straggling, sun-browned stalks of the Grass Hills, the meadows flanking the road bore thicker grasses that, despite the approaching harvest time, were predominantly green. On the scattered hilltops not more than low rises, at infrequent intervals, were woodlots with borders sharp enough that they could have been trimmed flush with a laser.
Scattered holdings flanked the woodlots, joined to the main road by lanes. Unlike in the lake valley, a handful of farmers and herders were visible, separated widely. But none ventured near the road.
“Notice that?” asked Ayrlyn. “Notice what?”
“In Lornth, the houses are close to the road. Here, they're not. And I don't think I've seen a single woman outside. Some small children, but no women. We've been riding two days straight since the lake-”
“We did sleep some.”
“If you call hiding in a woodlot sleeping.” Nylan forced himself to take a long, slow breath. “I slept.”
“You and Weryl did-that's true.”
“It was hard to sleep,” added Sylenia. “About the women?” asked Nylan, trying to steer the subject away from his apparently ill-advised suggestion as to a place to rest.
“It's just a feeling-”
“It be no feeling, lady,” said Sylenia. “Their women, they lock away. Even more now since the time in the years of my ancestors that the noble ladies fled to Lornth.”
“Gethen or someone mentioned that.” Ayrlyn stopped and looked toward the curve in the road.
A small wagon, pulled by a thin gray horse, rolled from behind the rise around the curve and toward the three riders, its yellow painted spoke wheels barely raising dust.
“First local we've seen on the road,” Nylan observed. The dark-haired and clean-shaven man on the wagon seat stared at the three riders, especially at Ayrlyn's flaming hair. His eyes widened as he glanced from Ayrlyn to Sylenia and back to Ayrlyn, with barely a notice of Nylan.
The angels and Sylenia drew their mounts onto the right shoulder of the road, and Nylan tugged the pack mare after them.
The wagon driver edged his horse and wagon toward the other shoulder, his eyes still fixed on the strangers.
Nylan smiled pleasantly, adding, “Good day,” in Old Rationalist.
The driver's mouth opened, then closed in a convulsive swallow, and he looked away, flicking the re.ins abruptly as he passed.
Nylan glanced back. The pace of the wagon had definitely picked up. “I think we're going to be reported to the local authorities.”
“That's not exactly surprising,” said Ayrlyn. “He kept looking at us as if we were ... harlots or worse. I'm getting a very bad feeling about the position of women in Cyador ... a very bad feeling.”
Nylan had to admit that she was probably right-very right. “The sooner we find this forest, preferably before we run into the local authorities, the better.”
“Nylan ...” said Ayrlyn in a low voice, drawing her mount closer to his.
“Yes?” His tone was wary.
“You were probably right about sleeping well out of sight. We're going to have to be careful.”
“You think we should go cross-country?” He glanced over his shoulder again. There was no sign of the wagon.
“Not until we have to. The roads are always faster.”
That was true, and the road ahead, past the curve, appeared clear, with only a handful of the same scattered holdings spread across the rolling plains. How long it would be clear was another question.
Nylan blotted his forehead and glanced back over his shoulder, but the road behind remained empty, except for the settling dust of the wagon.